


captain, my captain

by kemonomimi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Animal Ears, Arranged Marriage, Drabble, M/M, Pre-Canon, Same-Sex Marriage, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 01:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemonomimi/pseuds/kemonomimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an assortment of akamido drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. trendsetter

They were the latest fad, and as with all fads, had their fair share of skeptics and fans.

Typically there was an opinion gap – the boys viewed them as being too cutesy, not masculine enough; the girls proclaimed them adorable and desirable. Not many actually bought into the style, until Seijuuro Akashi showed up to school bright and early Monday morning sporting the new _additions_ with certain flair.

The ears were constantly swiveling, moving, and the tail twisted restlessly by his side. Girls cooed and asked to stroke the soft auburn fur of his triangular ears, and the boys decided that if Akashi had them, then it wasn’t too deplorable to have them.

When Shintarou Midorima came to school donning an oversized, ridiculous hat, many chalked it up to his superstitious ways. It wasn’t until basketball practice when a grabby Kise tore it from his head was the truth revealed. His ears were more bristly than Akashi’s, not nearly as sleek and shiny. His tail was thicker, bushier; both took abuse from pulling and prodding and petting by a curious team, and the abuse didn’t stop until Akashi strolled into the room, eyes sharp and examining.

He crossed the room and stopped in front of the disgruntled basketball player – who had by this time uttered an excuse about how his parents had insisted the Additions would assist him in basketball, and that he didn’t even like cats so really they were a bother – and murmured aloud, “They suit you,” as he rose to his toe-tips to press his hand against them as they fanned close to Shintarou’s head in a display of embarrassment.

It was Akashi’s verbal approval that sparked a sudden increase in students donning brand new _additions_ , the girls vying for attention and the males seeking to increase their popularity with the female population, but Akashi paid little attention to the effects of his approval.

After all, it was Midorima’s tail that his spent most of its time intertwined with, and that’s all that really mattered.


	2. crescendo

The soft pluck of a note, the hesitant string of melody that followed – the thrum of a beating heart, the airy song of a breath; all with each measured touch of fingers to keys that somehow turned the room into a concert hall, if only for a moment. 

How something so methodical produced something so vividly creative he would never understand. He could press key after key, copy the work of the other seated in front of the large piano, but the swooping melody gliding from wall to wall would lack the swirling complexity it displayed proudly currently. Akashi was a natural-born leader, but he was no musician.

He shaped people, not notes. He manipulated ambitions, not chords. He conducted practices, not orchestras. He has the ability to play if he wished, but he had nothing else to contribute to the void, to connect music and heart. He put his all into creating his team.

He was drawn to it like a moth to a searing flame, however. He did not have the time, nor the desire, to pour his all into music, but he had an appreciation for those who did. Movements slow, deliberate, he made his way to the glossy elm bench, fingers brushing the fabric of a clean, white uniform shirt to alert the pianist of his presence.

His smile was thin and sardonic when the music faltered like a bird faltering under a strong gust of wind. Shintarou must have been wholly engaged to not have noticed a second occupant of the room. Hetero-chromatic eyes honed in on long, bare digits that danced over cream and ebony keytops. He could trace each twitch of ligaments before they actually moved, track their path before they embarked on a slide across the board, but he could not devote the same heart, establish the same level of connection like the one seated could.

Gingerly so not to alarm his vice captain, Akashi placed his fingers over the longer pair, leaning against Shintarou’s back with most of his weight. He followed the movements of the playing pair which had not stopped as if they were his own, lips twisted into a small, curious smile. For a moment he could pretend the song was his, created from his fingers instead of another’s, if he so wished to.

The hands beneath him moved uncharacteristically and certainly without his permission, swapping their positions and pressing his fingers down until he felt the cool touch of the keys from below and the heat of palms from above. The song did not falter.

Akashi clicked his tongue, a quiet warning for Shintarou to keep his hands over the Teiko captain’s as he played. The greenette frowned, but he continued to follow each movement as if they were his own. As long as Shintarou’s hands were nearby, the music would remain full of emotion and life. If he moved away, the inspiration would diminish and the music would become flat, ordinary.

“You should have been a pianist,” Akashi murmurs, breath hot against the other boy’s ear just because he knows it’ll make Midorima squirm. He can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, can hear the tiny hitch in his breath –

“Perhaps,” Shintarou allows, when his voice will surely not waver. Again his breath hitches when lips mold against his ear, when hands swap out with his and press flat against his chest through the cotton shirt. His melody increases, faster and faster when lips settle just below his jawline, right over a little spot that with enough coaxing could have him singing a song of a different kind. 

And as the piano pieces reaches its end, a sinful mouth retracts and hands are soon to follow, leaving Midorima slightly dazed with the ending chords echoing in his ears. Akashi already has his back to him, and is already heading for the door.

“You’ll be late for practice, Shintarou,” the ginger warns, one foot out of the room. “Do hurry.” And the door shuts – the concert is over, the coaxing is done.


	3. domestic bliss

Sometimes Shintarou wonders if Akashi purposely tries to keep him in a half-coherent state during their off-days.

When thick bands of sunlight paint the floor instead of the thin cords of early morning, Shintarou beings to stir. Just because it is his day off does not mean he can lie in bed all day – there are things to be done, clothes to be washed. A weight settles over his chest, followed by a warm pair of lips heavy on his own, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Whether it be six in the morning or ten, Akashi always rolls over to silently greet Shintarou; the two of them work like clockwork and habits are easily formed, traditions foraged. 

It’s the hand settled over the nape of his neck – rubbing, squeezing, flexing – that makes this morning encounter different, the hand that beats away any attempts to fully wake up and face the day and massages lethargic urges back into Shintarou’s body.

For the life of him, Midorima cannot understand the logic behind keeping him dazed and sleepy during their free mornings together.

At first he attributed it to some sort of cuddling urge, but even so, he knew the redhead who lie leisurely across him well enough to know there were motives behind most of his actions. Of course if he asked, Akashi would just arch an eyebrow and stretch with a feline grace and run his fingers over Shintarou’s broad shoulders with a sharp, taunting smirk. 

And honestly, it was never wise to question the ex-captain too much in the morning.


	4. christmas

Their first Christmas together is shared with the group as a whole, and neither really remember the whole picture, just minor details that stick out when they try to recall the party.

Midorima is pretty sure Aomine had spiked the eggnog with something, because he knows he woke up with a headache the next morning, sprawled out length-ways down the bleachers with his head hanging off the end and his glasses discarded and never found again. He was lucky to have brought an extra pair.

Akashi can remember Satsuki holding mistletoe above everyone’s heads and giving them platonic cheek kisses after a few glasses of that ever-so-famous eggnog, and he can remember Shintarou singing an interesting rendition of some American song only because he noted that he did not know Shintarou could speak English. Thus the Teiko team learned why middle schoolers were not legally allowed alcohol.

The second Christmas shared together was just the two of them, granted it only lasted for a few minutes outside Midorima’s house. He had not expected Akashi to be waiting on his doorstep with a present, especially one as personal as the ancient sheet music bound together by unraveling ribbons that probably dated the same as the musty, yellowing paper. He, in return, gifted Akashi with something far less extravagant and impersonal, something he had on hand in case someone did surprise him the way Akashi did. 

The next time Shuutoku played Rakuzan Shintarou did manage to catch a whiff of Akashi’s hair when the other had took to guarding his left side, and was quite surprised to smell the tangent spice of gingerbread from the impersonal shampoo and conditioner giftset.

More Christmases came and went, but the fleeting moments did not count as anything particularly special. Those years Shintarou was ready with gifts more personal in nature – at least as personal as the two of them allowed one another to be – but it was much later when the two reached yet another marker event in their holiday history.

That Christmas had been a small celebration – a few gifts piled under a small tree because why waste money on an extravagant tree when they were moving out of their shared apartment and into a newly-purchased house a few days after? Besides, neither men minded the quiet lull of classical Christmas melodies emitted from the small player beside the tree and the twinkle of lights accompanying the warm cider they sipped silently on the couch they were leaving behind in the apartment.

This Christmas had gone well, too; All of the noisy guests had left after indulging in the oh-so-famous eggnog, taking brightly wrapped gifts with them. All who remained were the two joint owners of the house, who sat in front of a crackling fireplace in the main house wrapped up in a single, large blanket, each reading their own novel while sharing one another’s warmth. The Christmas tree was no longer surrounded by barricades of presents. Only two remained – one red, one green respectively. 

They both knew quite well what were in the boxes, so they did not hurry to unwrap them. After all, with an all-seeing lover like Akashi, it was a miracle that Midorima had been able to hide the matching pair of expensive, simple silver rings for as long as he did, as well has the chains the two of them would wear them on. Akashi also did not really know the meaning of ‘surprise,’ so it wasn’t unusual for him to tell Shintarou ahead of time what lie hidden behind shiny green paper. This time it was a few little things, like an expensive fountain pen and a blank leather journal and a sage-green silk tie and other little luxuries that would look professional in Midorima’s office at the clinic. 

As both slowly turned a page in their books, both leaned in to gently touch lips before discarding their reading material all together and sinking into the warmth underneath the shared blanket.


	5. insight for the sightless

Akashi had known as far back as during his days on the Teiko court and his odd skill came to light – known that one day his sight would deteriorate and leave him sightless. He knew that continued strain would only quicken the process and any chance of remaining sight would deplete to the single-digits. He knew, but if anyone were infallible it was he, surely an equal with the angels or heaven or the demons of hell. 

A little part of him knew that wasn’t true, but Akashi pretended like he did not doubt and stood alone on the highest pedestal of all. If he had to fall, it was going to be catastrophic. 

–

Shintarou had known. Shintarou always knew, really. It came as no surprise to him when a familiar face appeared in his clinic, aided by a hired hand. That extra limb was fired and replaced with the temperamental doctor, who took it upon himself to care diligently for the blind ex-captain. 

It was only right, after all; Seijuuro shaped Midorima into the man he became, therefore it was his duty to see to him until his last breath – that’s what Midorima would say when questioned. 

Akashi found the notion vaguely romantic.

–

No one was to pity him. He was still intelligent, keen mind untouched by the lack of vision, and still quite fearsome. Maybe even more so, since he developed an excellent sense of direction and complicated mental mapping skills to compensate for his loss. He could navigate the home he shared with the doctor without any assistance, unless someone moved a piece of furniture without alerting him first.

He swore Midorima did it on purpose sometimes – this realization was brought to light as he lay against the cool rug having lost his footing to a wayward chair.

–

They don’t argue often, but when they do their verbal exchanges are short and terse. Even though Akashi cannot see, Shintarou cannot hide much from him. Though Shintarou sits in his chair with a furrowed brow and a scowl, it isn’t long before the smaller male is in his lap and tracing the contours of his cheeks and brushing his calloused fingertips along the long lashes hidden behind a wall of glass, now discarded rendering both of them legally blind. 

Sometimes Akashi drops Midorima’s glasses purposely where he cannot find them easily – it’s thrilling to map one another’s most intimate places relying only on past experience and instinct; it proves how in-tune the ex-captain and ex-vice really are.

–

Often when Shintarou believes Seijuuro to be lost in the throws of dreamland, the taller male tucks his petite partner closer and dips his head to press kisses as soft as the blankets beneath him against the pale expanse of Akashi’s eyelids, his brow, his temple; but Akashi is not asleep, and he knows the shudders that travel through his lover are the tears that Akashi does not shed, so he does not break the mournful silence of the night and confirm his consciousness.

–

Akashi likes to seat himself beside Shintarou at the large grand piano the redhead so generously gifted to his caretaker last winter and run his hands over the doctor’s as he plays melodies as soft as the snow fall outside their windows. He can feel the weight of Shintarou’s gaze and smiles a little matter-of-fact smile. 

–

He is cut off from the rest of the world, but he does not miss it; he has Shintarou to fill the empty void, and Midorima is more than happy to do so.


	6. birthday

The soft snick of the door opening, the soft echos from his own footfalls, the flick of the light switch when the entire room lights up, the shine from the paper-wrapped box that sits expectantly in the center of his desk – sights and sounds flood his senses and red-and-gold eyes blink, pupils adjust, and his feet carry him forward. Automatically he runs his finger along the paper which is drawn tight over the seams, fit perfectly over the corners of the cube.

The tape holding the paper to the box is slick under his finger, devoid of air bubbles and perfectly aligned in the best way possible to keep the wrapping secure. He doesn’t need to look at the simple white rectangular card resting on top of the box to know who the gift is from, but he looks anyway and smiles at the perfectly scripted characters that spell out “Akashi Seijuuro” that were written just for him. 

Akashi is slow and methodical as he frees the box from its shiny outer layer, automatically imagining that instead of his own fingers it’s tape-wrapped ones that are pulling the wrapping paper taunt over the box, not wasting an inch. He folds the paper and sets it aside mechanically and admires the pure white box that sits in the direct center of his Rakuzan desk before he eases its flaps apart and looks inside.

Inside there is a familiar sleek case – he knows there’s an equally as classy fountain pen resting inside its satin lining, but that’s not what his all-seeing eyes are focused on. He sets the case aside and shuffles around the tissue paper until something silver lands in his hand, and he brings it to the light to look at it.

It’s heavy and a size too large for his thin fingers, and intricate carvings etched intertwining cover its surface. It’s a class ring, he notes, charmed; His own rests in a box at his home, proof of his years at Rakuzan, but this one is not like his. His smile arches a little higher when he pictures Shintarou “accidentally” allowing his sacred class ring to slip off his finger and land in a nest of paper; Akashi can see indecision between his brows but a set look in his emerald eyes as he closes the box and wraps it with perfection. He can imagine him later, eyeing the box with heated cheeks and debating removing the paper to retrieve his ring.

Shintarou’s indecision has always been something that amused the ex-Teiko captain – so charmingly human and predictable but so uniquely Midorima’s.

He’ll find a chain for this ring later and wear both his own and Shintarou’s around his neck, brazen and challenging to anyone who catches sight of gleaming silver. He’ll welcome the weight of it thumping against his chest while he flawlessly executes maneuvers on the court. 

But most of all he’ll welcome a pair of emerald green eyes which will naturally hone-in on the rings, and the slight coloration that will rise in the cheeks of Midorima Shintarou.

As he shuffles the paper around in the box to return the pen case, the card with his name on it flips over and a second message is revealed. _Happy Birthday._


	7. trophy wife

Akashi’s eyes scan the crowd of patrons, smiling complacently at those of his future kingdom that gathered to greet him, and he strokes soft green tresses and smiles a little wider. He’s seated in the throne, the one that will be his once his father kicks the bucket, and Midorima is seated beside him on one of the plushest pillows in the kingdom, his face contorted with negative emotions though he was leaning against the nimble fingers that thread in and out of his hair.

Why it’s he instead of a pretty girl seated beside Akashi in the place of honor is a story typical of royalty — The Rakuzan Kingdom wanted to merge with the old-standing Shuutoku, so a marriage was arranged. The misunderstanding took place when Akashi Sr. thought Midorima Sr. had a daughter to give away, and vice-versa. Next thing the Akashi family knows is that Akashi’s bride is present, and oh, she’s a he, and Akashi had Midorima’s face in his hand with an expression of contentment and he cannot be swayed when his family wants to send Midorima away.

He’s smitten, and Midorima’s heated cheeks coupled with a passionate glare only seal the deal.

His smile doesn’t wane when his fingers creep down Shintarou’s face and touched his lips and they part willingly, despite the face Midorima making to compensate for his docile behavior that looks like he swallowed a lemon whole. Fingers are sacred in Shuutoku, Akashi knows — he studied their sacred culture and language so he could better interact with his bride and draw him from his disgruntled shell, so Shintarou accepting his into his warm mouth is definitely endearing.

Shintarou still won’t unbind his fingers for Seijuuro, but its only a matter of time before his stubbornness wanes.

“Close the doors,” Akashi orders, and his other servants, gifts from other kingdoms though not dear as his Shintarou, draw forward. Kise and Aomine close the curtains, Murasakibara offers Akashi a plate of sweets, and Kuroko scares the daylights out of Midorima as he fluffs his pillow, but when they finished their chores Akashi dismissed them kindly.

His fingers curl tightly around Shintarou’s chin and draw him up for a kiss, practically purring when Shintarou took the initiative and curled large hands in stark red hair. 

Really, Shintarou is too precious, and Akashi could not be more proud.


	8. sick day

Midorima looks at his living room with a mixture of disgust, disdain, and a twinge of endearment. Akashi is throwing up the contents of his stomach into a bowl, thus accounting for the negative feelings, but denying he is sick with a steady gaze of which Shintarou has grown fond. 

Instead of arguing with the ill red-head, Shintarou calls into the clinic and informs the doctor he shares office space with that he cannot come into today before he takes a seat beside Akashi and works his taped fingers over soft skin which hides deceivingly powerful back muscles. He kneads his fingers against Akashi’s shoulder blades and after meeting a lidded gaze drops his face for a soft peck at the base of Akashi’s neck.

The moment is then ruined by an ill-timed bout of heaving, the first round happening to land in Midorima’s lap and if he weren’t a doctor he too would have revealed the contents of his stomach at the gross feeling of vomit in his lap.

Akashi merely blinks at him and has the gall to report that Shintarou has something staining his lap.

The ex-basketball captain must have predicted Shintarou’s next actions because he doesn’t protest at all when the doctor drags the two of them into the bathroom and strips them both down before guiding Seijuuro under the water’s spray.

The absolutely hideous expression on Shintarou’s face is enough to let Akashi know that he isn’t forgiven, but he presses in and tries to steal a few wet kisses anyway. His persistence is rewarded with a prude, quick kiss because Shintarou refuses to take any of Akashi’s germs, and he blanches automatically afterwards because it sinks in that he just kissed the mouth that only a few minutes had dumped vomit into his lap.

Akashi merely corrects Shintarou, informing him that their little exchange was hardly a kiss, but he cannot get the taller of the two to try again with all his goading, and he’s terribly amused behind his feverish flush anyway so no harm is done.

–

When Shintarou wakes the next morning with his stomach rolling, he turns a steely glare to the other side of the bed where Akashi is curled up beside a glass of ice chips that have mostly melted and glistening with the sweat of a broken fever.

“Why Shintarou, you look a bit ill.” Midorima promptly rolls over and faces the other wall, not at all amused with Akashi’s predatory smile and antics, but he doesn’t push his lover away when he curls against Shintarou’s strong back and the two of them fall asleep.


	9. infected

He doesn’t know which is worse — the emotional pain of seeing a much beloved (grudgingly so, perhaps) captain riddled with the first sickly grey splotches of the disease, or having to be the one to carry him and see the comrade who was once untouchable, having to muffle his cries when the pain begins because though the area looks devoid of life one never knows what godforsaken creatures will crawl up from the crags.

It’s not much further, Shintarou assures Seijuuro with gritted teeth and an aching jaw as the sick boy in his arms spasms and kicks at Shintarou’s ribs, striking the bruise that has steadily began to climb up his side from constant abuse.

He’s right — before them is a tiny cave cut out from the mountain, Shintarou’s hideaway from the disease-ravaged cities and the not-quite-human creatures that are left roaming mindlessly in them. The disease can be cured, Shintarou knows this more than anyone; he once felt the all encompassing pain of it, but he had survived. Only his fingertips remained mottled with the chalky color.

Seijurro hadn’t minded having a Cured on his extermination team, though other captains had rejected him for fear of infection, contamination.

That’s why he was carrying him now, enduring the scratches and bites and kicks, and even worse the whimpers and cries of a broken man who had been revered as a king.

The disease cannot have him, Shintarou will not allow it.


	10. waiting

When Akashi exits the Rakuzan gym and spots a head of green-as-grass hair, he is not surprised. He doesn’t bother to act surprised, not since Shintarou began to show up every Tuesday and Thursday – the days he stays late for practice and Shuutoku team mates do not have practice. He watches in amusement as Shintarou flinches, and promptly informs Akashi that he was just wandering around and ended up in Kyoto.

Akashi eyes Shintarou’s shoes that lack evidence of an afternoon of meandering around Japan and smiles as sharp as a knife. “If you don’t mind a bit more walking, then, do accompany me home.” Of course his ex-vice captain does.

They do not speak the entire way home, and when they part ways they do not break their sacred silence.

—

It is after Rakuzan trumps the Veteran King that his visits stop. No longer is Akashi greeted by a tall figure waiting patiently by the gates.

It takes him two weeks to realize the emotion spreading through his chest when Shintarou’s waiting place is empty is disappointment.

It takes another two weeks to formulate a perfect, fool-proof plan.

–

It is Wednesday, and Shuutoku’s practice has just ended. Shintarou gathers his things, methodically, and Takao runs on ahead, insisting he’ll grab the rickshaw from where he stashed it. There is the soft pluck of rain falling on the roof of the gym, but Shintarou is without an umbrella, so he steps out into the rain quickly, searching for his companion in the school yard.

The yard is empty at first glance, but closer examination reveals a bright green umbrella protecting an individual with even brighter rouge hair who waits at the gate.

“Shintarou,” Akashi greets.

“Akashi.”

“I seem to have wandered into the Tokyo area,” his smile is coy, “will you escort me home?”

Shintarou swallows, and he nods.

—

It is Tuesday, and Shintarou is leaning against the regal gates of Rakuzan academy, a bullet-train ticket haphazardly tucked into his school bag and a bright red umbrella over his head.


	11. date

It was supposed to be a normal date between a normal couple, but normalcy proved too harsh a task.

The amusement park attendants were thoroughly unamused at the amount of prizes the two of them had racked up together, Midorima with his three-point shots and Akashi with his deadly dart-to-balloon accuracy. The frazzled workers had never seen such startling accuracy in their games (they might have been just a little bit rigged, but that information was hush-hush), and watched as their chances of a larger profit dwindled away shot after shot. The attendants, once the shock of watching the two win prize after prize cleared away, promptly forbade the two boys from playing any more of the games. Akashi, who never did like anyone who tried to reign over him, was quick to decide otherwise, and it wasn’t long before the two of them found themselves down the block with empty hands. Shintarou gave Akashi a very well-practiced scandalized look, but the red-head only smiled and patted his date reassuringly on the arm.

The next day the newspapers told stories of a hostile takeover of the local carnival.


	12. idol

The sleek limo across the street is surrounded by a massive flock of screeching females dressed in all sorts and varying degrees of colorful clothes and school uniforms that from the window of the convenience store across the street look like bright plumage of a pack of birds, if one discredits the fact that it is usually the male birds that are the most colorful.

Shintarou is not in the store because that is Akashi Seijuuro’s limousine parked across the street, and he’s not just ‘tsuning,’ as Takao calls it. Shintarou had stopped at the store with Takao and his sister to buy a few little knickknacks he insisted were lucky, and it just so happened that the limo and the flock of ladies had been there. He does, however, pick up the magazine on the rack with a glossy, high definition picture of the so-called idol painted across the front. Though the girls coo and sob over his prince-like demeanor and attractive face, Shintarou’s harbored interest in the idol lies in his shogi accomplishments, and the deception he reads between the lines of the practiced answers in the pages of interviews he pours over.

When he turns, he bumps into another. A baseball cap from the stranger’s head falls to the ground, revealing bright crimson strands and two mismatching eyes stare calculatingly from the magazine cover to Shintarou’s face.

The high school student holds his breath, green eyes blown wide from the shock of seeing the very boy whose words he had on printed pages in his hand, and dips down to retrieve the hat. Swallowing thickly, he manages to speak, though his words shake much like his knees; “Watch where you’re going.”

He abandons his conquest and flees through the door, red painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and Akashi Seijuuro watches him go with a crooked smile and a helter-skelter cap on his head, as it had been hastily replaced by the fleeing stranger. Two brunettes peek in the door, glance around, and the taller shrugs his shoulder. “Shin-chan must have gotten tired waiting for us and went home,” Takao explains to his sister, and she too shrugs her shoulders before they depart in the same general direction the green-haired student had ran, leaving Akashi alone in the middle of the store.

He bends to retrieve something shiny from the floor, and raises the rectangular card to the light. In the stranger’s haste to flee his presence, he had dropped something; a school identification card glittered in the light. “Midorima Shintarou,” The idol murmured, lips curving. “I suppose I’ll have to return this to you, won’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from tumblr and ff dot net, adding tags when appropriate.


End file.
